


Bleeding Out

by starksparkr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 13:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksparkr/pseuds/starksparkr
Summary: The cell reeks of blood, dried vomit, and piss—and the smell alone makes Tony sick. He’s not sure how long they’ve been here. Days? Weeks?





	Bleeding Out

_“When the day has come_

_But I've lost my way around_

_And the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground_

_When the sky turns gray_

_And everything is screaming I will reach inside_

_Just to find my heart is beating_

_You tell me to hold on_

_O_ _h you tell me to hold on_

 _B_ _ut innocence is gone_

_And what was right is wrong_

_'_ _Cause I'm bleeding out_

_So if the last thing that I do_

_Is to bring you down_

_I'll bleed out for you_

_So I bare my skin_

_And I count my sins_

_A_ _nd I close my eyes_

_And I take it in_

_And I'm bleeding out_

_I'm bleeding out for you (for you)_

_When the hour is nigh_

_And hopelessness is sinking in_

_And the wolves all cry_

_To feel the night worth hollering_

_When your eyes are red_

_And emptiness is all you know_

_With the darkness fed I will be your scarecrow_

_You tell me to hold on_

_Oh you tell me to hold on_

_But innocence is gone And what was right is wrong '_

_Cause I'm bleeding out_

_So if the last thing that I do Is to bring you down_

_I'll bleed out for you.” –_ Imagine Dragons, _Bleeding Out_

* * *

 

 The cell reeks of blood, dried vomit, and piss—and the smell alone makes Tony sick. He’s not sure how long they’ve been here. Days? Weeks? He is chained to the wall; for whatever twisted reason, their captors have decided to give him some range of motion—but even still, he feels helpless. Peter is strapped to a surgical table, his forehead strapped to it to keep him still, and the kid is barely awake. The sick fucks have pumped his system full of sedatives; the kid, bless his soul, has always been a fighter—but the abuse has begun to take its toll.

            They haven’t slept in what feels like forever, nor have they had a full proper meal. Once a day, they will be given a small flask of water with just enough inside to keep them alive for another day or so. Occasionally, they will be given slices of bread, but nothing else. Tony gives his rations to the kid; he needs it more than he does. _He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t be here._

            “Pete? Peter, you need to wake up!” he whispers fiercely. Peter is between waking and dream as he tries to keep his eyes open.

            “Mis’r Stark?” His words are slurred, and his eyes unfocused. “What…?”

            “You’re going to be okay, Peter. You’re going to get out of here—but I need you to listen to me.”

            “I just want to go to sleep.”

            “I know you do, kiddo, but you need to fight it. They’re giving you all these sedatives to keep you down.”

            “It hurts, Mr. Stark.” The words come out as a whisper. Peter’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. “I want to go home.”

            “Shh, shh, I know, kiddo, I—” Tony’s words are cut off as a blowhorn goes off, reverberating throughout the room. The ringleader of the group—Tony tries to remember what they call themselves ( _Blood Brothers, was it? Or Blood Wielders?),_ but he can’t think clearly right now—enters the room, bolting the door shut behind him. The man is soaked in blood, and there is no mistaking the bloodlust in his eyes. _Tahir._ His arms are marred with dark tattoos—swastikas—and horizontal cuts. Behind him is another, whom Tony presumes is his right-hand man.

            “Tony Stark,” Tahir says conversationally, and it’s only then that Tony sees the toolbox he carries. _Oh no. No, no, no._ “When Rais told me that you were brought in, I almost couldn’t believe my ears. I’ve been dreaming of this day for years. You killed my son, and you’re going to pay—and I’m going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.”

            “Killed your son? _What are you talking about_?” Tony is shouting now, his fear for Peter kicking into high gear. Tahir slashes him across the face with a knife, drawing blood.

            “Kahn would’ve been the new leader of the 10 Rings—but you killed him before he could pass his trials. You killed my boy. You killed my son.” Tony’s blood runs cold. _The 10 Rings._ He hasn’t heard that name in years—and had hoped to never hear it again. He remembers now—the explosions, the fire, as he went on a rampage, slaughtering them and destroying their caches of Stark technology.

            Tahir goes over to Peter; Peter’s eyes widen in terror and he pulls and strains against his restraints—but the efforts are in vain.

            “No, no, no, don’t—” Peter begs, but Tahir slaps him across the face, the crack of the blow piercing the air. Tahir gives a nod over to his lackey, who has a wet towel slung over his shoulder and carries a pitcher full of water. _Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no._

            “ _Rais_!”

Tony hates how helpless he is as Rais flings the towel over Peter’s face and positions the pitcher over him—not yet emptying the water, but the threat is clear. He is unable to do anything as Rais begins to pour.

Peter gags and chokes, his lungs protesting the sudden flood of water—and it comes back to Tony in flashes. The shock of the icy water. The fear. The desperate need to breathe that overcomes all else. It feels as though he too is suffocating and drowning along with Peter; Peter yanks and pulls and kicks against his restraints. His jaw and fists are clenched, but his resolve breaks and he’s sobbing as he gags, his lungs struggling for just one breath of sweet oxygen.

“ _No! No! No, stop!”_ Tony is screaming now, fruitlessly pulling against his own chains. He is so close to Peter, and yet, so far. “Stop it—he’s just a kid!” In response, Rais tilts the pitcher so the flow of water is even stronger—and he makes eye contact with him, his face devoid of emotion as he drowns Peter. Tony expects him to say something, but he says nothing. Several long minutes pass—Peter’s movements have been reduced to twitches, weakening with each passing second—before he peels the soaking towel off his face. Peter gasps and coughs and splatters, taking in several deep and desperate breaths for air as he shakes with sobs.

“Hurt me all you want. Beat me. Torture me, I don’t care—but just let him go! _Let him go!”_ Tony can hear his desperation in his voice—but he doesn’t care. _Just let Peter go. He has nothing to do with any of this._ He glances over at the kid; he’s trembling violently. From the shock and trauma of being waterboarded or from the cold, he can’t say.

“You care about him as though he’s your own son,” said Rais in an emotionless, cold, and flat voice. He lays out his tools—and Tony thinks he’s going to be sick. They are surgical tools, made for only one purpose: cutting and carving into the human body. Peter whimpers, the cold black hand of fear wrapping around his throat and choking him.

“You’re going to be okay, Peter. You’re going to be okay.” The words are a lie, but what else can he do to reassure the kid? It’s his fault that he’s even here in the first place. Rais withdraws a pair of scissors and cuts Peter’s T-shirt open, and he gestures towards Tahir in a _come here_ manner. Tahir obeys without hesitation and Rais gives him a scalpel.

“You have a choice, Tony,” Tahir says conversationally. “You can either watch as I cut out his eyes—or you can get your hands dirty.”

Tony is speechless. He can’t let them hurt Peter more than they already have—and just the thought of inflicting pain on him threatens to make him sick. On Peter’s chest is a mark, or rather, a symbol that has been burned onto him: two snakes chasing each other in a circle. The symbol of the Blood Brothers. Rais steps behind Peter, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back, nodding silently to Tahir, who raises the scalpel as Rais forces one of Peter’s eyes wide open—

“ _No!”_ Tony screams the word. “No, don’t—don’t do it!”

“Mr. Stark…?” Peter croaks, his voice breaking.

“Undo these chains.” Tony fucking hates himself even as he speaks, for his imagination spirals out of control with just what these fuckers might make him do to Peter. “Undo these chains and give me the scalpel. I’ll do it myself.” Bile rises in his throat. _Forgive me._ Tahir removes the shackles keeping him in place; Rais has removed his hands from Peter’s face but remains holding him in place. The kid whimpers, desperately trying in vain to hold back his sobs. Tony thinks he’s going to vomit as Tahir hands him a scalpel, leading him over to Peter.

“We’re going to start out with the basics,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Fuck you.”

“Is that really how you want to play this, Tony?” He snaps his fingers. “Get some gasoline—and get lots of it,” he orders. It takes a moment for Tony to realize he’s ordering the men outside of their cell to retrieve the gasoline—and his heart lurches.

“This child isn’t even human,” says Tahir, grabbing Tony by the hand with the scalpel. Peter is sobbing, fighting in vain against his restraints.

He knows he will never forget his screams.

 

 

FIN


End file.
